Snow
by damageddementia
Summary: For TheMizMagnet. It didn't matter to him that it was freezing. It didn't matter to him what anyone said. Mark was going to wait there, because he knew- or hoped- that the one he loved was coming home.


**Disclaimer: I do NOT own the following wrestlers, or any of the events that actually happened on camera, or anything recognizable.**

**I respect the actual beliefs and sexualities of the following wrestlers.**

**So, this is another one that was written as a part of the Secret Santa Writing Challenge 2009. This one is for TheMizMagnet; I hope you enjoy it. **

* * *

**Snow**

The cold and unrelenting wind tore through his defenses and left him shivering as he sat on the dark porch, a long white box in his hands. The sky was a dreary gray and the clouds were suffocating the landscape. The snow was anything but fresh, darkened by boots and the wheels of cars, becoming just a brown slush. It stopped snowing long ago, making it impossible for the ground to become white again.

To call the surroundings dismal would be an understatement, but Mark stood outside anyway, sitting on his old chair. The coat he wore still wasn't enough to completely block out the chill, but Mark didn't care if he was cold. He was going to sit on this porch until the kid showed up, whether he liked it or not.

He knew Jeff said he wasn't going to return to the house Mark brought for them in North Carolina (and he only chose North Carolina because Jeff insisted that they live there, not even considering how much Mark loved living in Texas), but he held onto the hope that he would feel the same tug Mark did to the house once the holidays rolled in.

He and Jeff were perfectly happy, perfectly happy. Mark had no idea what could have happened. He could only remember the look on Jeff's face as he told Mark they didn't work, never worked, and he didn't want to see him or the house Mark put in extra hours with the boss to buy again. Mark didn't know what to say, and Jeff walked out of his life, leaving him behind.

Jeff was no longer working in the WWE, so Mark couldn't see him everyday, but once he finally regained his mind, Mark called him. He changed his number. Mark went looking for him. Jeff's old house was deserted, all his stuff completely gone. It was now on the market. Mark tried to talk to Gilbert Hardy, but Jeff told his father nothing about what he was doing or where he was going. He just sent cryptic messages that declared he was alright, and neither he nor his brother Matt had to worry.

But it was Christmas Eve. It was Christmas Eve last year when he and Jeff finally unpacked the last box, declaring the house to be theirs. It was Christmas last year when their house became a home. Jeff had to feel the pull.

"Mark!" Mark looked up slowly, face not showing any expression as the wrong Hardy boy walked over, making more prints in the snow. He almost felt like the snow, stepped on and abused until all that remained was a cruel caricature of what used to be.

Matt looked at Mark, arms crossed. "It's freezing! Get inside!"

"Go away," Mark snapped, putting his box down. It was the wrong person. Matt wasn't supposed to come. Jeff was, and they would finally get the ability to talk about what the hell happened. Tonight was finally going to be the night, Mark knew it.

"Mark," Matt said, looking into the older man's eyes sadly, "He's not coming."

"Yes he is."

"Mark, I mean it," Matt said. Mark could hear the sympathy that filled his voice, but he refused to listen to it, refused to entertain it. Jeff was coming home tonight. He was coming home. Matt bent down, trying to keep Mark's eyes on his face. "I mean it. Jeff's not coming."

"Don't tell me that," Mark warned, "Don't you dare... my baby's going to come down that street and we're... we're going to fix this. And I'll wait all night if I have to."

"Mark, listen to me," Matt said, "Jeff's not even in North Carolina. He's not coming."

Mark stood up and grabbed Matt by the arm, shaking him roughly. "What do you know? Just shut up! He's coming!"

"Hurting me's not going to change anything," Matt said, voice still calm. Mark stared at him angrily, but then he pushed him, making Matt fall into the slush, bottom getting soaked with the darkened snow. Matt just picked himself up, ignoring the chill that filled his body. "Come on, Mark. I'm worried about you."

"The day I'll need your stupid sympathy is a cold day in hell." Mark sat back in his chair, ignoring Matt, hoping he'll eventually get the picture and just go away. Instead, Matt walked up the porch and into the house, using what was unmistakably Jeff's key. Jeff's. Not Matt's. Matt had no right to use Jeff's key that opened the house Jeff shared with Mark... he had no damn right...

In about ten minutes, Matt walked back outside, carrying a thermos. He sat it next to the chair and said, "In case you get cold. You know, there's a place for you at the Hardy Christmas, if you want it."

"I'm spending Christmas with one Hardy, and it's not you." Mark still refused eye contact, and Matt grabbed something from his pocket and placed it on Mark's lap. It was a Christmas card, decorated with snowflakes, the white snowflakes Mark wished would rain down on his slush and make it beautiful again. Like his snowflake, his Jeff.

"No one should spend Christmas alone, Mark," Matt said.

"You should go before you get hypothermia or something," Mark responded, eyeing how Matt shivered.

Matt shook his head, and then he finally said, "I'm coming back at midnight, Mark. But I won't be alone. And if you're still here, we're going to drag you away."

"Good luck with that." Mark's voice was laced with an obvious threat, but it hardly effected Matt. He just walked back to his car before giving him one last 'poor you' look. He was Mark Calaway; he didn't need pity. He didn't need anything but Jeff. And so he picked up the white box, steadfastly waiting for his lover.

* * *

Matt drove back there three hours later. His lover, Chris Irvine, sat in the seat next to him, and Ron Killings, Shane Helms, and Shannon Moore all sat in the back. He could imagine they wouldn't look all too threatening to a man like Mark, but together, they could at least convince the older man to get out of the cold.

Matt stopped the car in front of the house and got out, gasping. Mark had fallen asleep in the rocker, the box he held on the floor. He ran over immediately, the others not far behind as Matt slapped Mark's cheek. Mark began to stir, and Matt sighed in relief.

Mark's eyes opened slowly, but he wasn't even able to discern the face above him. All he could see was the hanging Hardy medallion. "Jeff...?" Mark said, reaching out to cup Matt's cheek.

"God," Matt said, "You stubborn old fart." Matt and Ron helped Mark up, each grabbing one of his arms and putting them around their necks, and they carried him inside. Shannon cleared the couch while Shane and Chris ran upstairs for blankets, and Matt and Ron helped Mark out of his clothes. Soon, they had him on the couch, covering him with the blankets.

"Will he be okay?" Shannon asked, biting his lip nervously.

"I hope so," Ron said. Matt went outside, unable to believe how Jeff still effected Mark, even after he'd been gone for months. He picked up the thermos, unsurprised that it was still full. He then leaned down to the box and, seeing it was addressed to Jeff, he curiously opened it. Once he saw what was inside, he wished he didn't.

Two dozen blue roses lay there, their beauty almost sickening to Matt. Very few people knew about Jeff's love for dyed flowers; it was something he kept close to him. Like he dyed his own hair as a statement, he thought the blue on the flowers made a statement as well: I love you so much that I will find a way to mess with natural design and get you flowers that don't exist.

Chris walked outside, eyes trained on the man he loved's back. "Come inside, Mattie. It's cold."

"Give me a minute," Matt said. Chris walked back inside, and Matt pulled out his phone, quickly dialing a number. The very number that, when Matt came home, unable to believe his baby brother left North Carolina without a word, rested on a post it on Matt's door, along with a note in familiar scribble: _just in case you need me._

"Matt," Jeff said, "Merry Christmas, brother."

"He waited on the porch for you for five hours." Matt waited for a response, and Jeff finally said, "Why would he do something like that?"

"Because he loves you. Because he believes in you."

"I told him I wasn't coming back."

"But you didn't tell him why, Jeff. And he'll always wonder why wasn't he good enough for you."

Jeff snickered. "Him... not good enough for me? You're a funny guy, Matt. He's not the one who isn't good enough. He's just, well... he reminds me of the failure I truly am."

"Jeff..."

"Take care of him for me, Matt. Do whatever it takes to make him forget me. Could you do that, for me?"

"You should be the one to do it." Matt picked up one of the blue roses and twirled it between his fingers, thinking about how Jeff was hurting the very man he claimed deserved better. "Jeff, please. Come back. Tell him everything. Work it out like adults. He needs you."

"I can't Matt... I'm sorry, I can't. I just can't."

Matt shook his head, visibly disappointed with his brother. "He brought you a gift."

"What?"

"Two dozen blue roses." Matt waited for a reaction, and heard something that sounded like a choked sob. Then, all he heard was a dial tone. Matt put the rose back in the box and putting the lid back on before walking inside. He didn't bother calling Jeff back; he didn't think he'd pick up.

He put the roses on the table, thinking about how Mark looked when he touched his face, thinking he was Jeff. Chris touched his shoulder and said, "Are you okay?" Matt turned around, suddenly feeling very blessed that Chris had never done something like this to him. Matt turned around and rested his head on Chris' shoulder.

"I wish Mark could have gotten what he wanted for Christmas," Matt whispered.

That night, Mark had a dream. He dreamt that Jeff came up those stairs, out of breath and apologizing for being late. He imagined Jeff's hair, bright and vibrant, all over his face, making him look like an angel. In the dream, Mark pulled Jeff close, telling him that it was okay that he was late, that everything was alright because they were together for Christmas. They were happy, happy just to be together, getting warmth from each other's bodies. There was a promise of hot chocolate, a promise of packages to open, but neither gifts mattered: Mark had Jeff, and Jeff had Mark. It was all the present either of them needed.

In his dream, the snow was pure white, unlike the brown sludge that marred real life.

* * *

**Well... happy holidays?**


End file.
